


Endless Nameless

by orphan_account



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - between chapters, Drabbles, Emotional Manipulation, Father Figures, Mild Language, Other, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Self Loathing, Updating tags as I go, nonsensical language, shifting POV as chapters go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various drabbles, focused on various relationships; platonic and just plain wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Assembly may be Required

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, you have excellent tastes in tags.  
> However the writing itself may be unpalatable for some,  
> but thank you anyway.

 

"Hmmm? What's that mean again?"

I'm strolling down the road beside Shinohara, who's shadow is cast over me cause he's just that big of a guy. He's not feeling like talking much in the heat, but he tells me.

"It means you have agreed to an...act, to give permission. Your approval," He salutes his hand to his brow to keep the sun outta his eyes when he turns to me.

"Do you understand?"

I nod, content to stare back up at him for a short minute until a stray cat across the street tears my attention away.

It's all black and has haffa tail that's missing.

It looks funny but I don't laugh. The cat seems to know what I'm think'n because it flicks its ugly nub ofa tail and goes about its way.

"...So if you're ever in a situation with the police or other investigators, you know how important consent is. Don't forget that."

"Consent..." I repeat to myself.

To be truthful I don't completely understand what Shinohara's saying but I figure if I pretend like I do, he won't have to continue to lecture me about it.

He gives me a suspicious sidelong glance and I don't stumble.

Shinohara knows me pretty good by now.

He knows me well enough to identify the way I kill ghouls, my taste in food, and even apologizes for me before I've even done anythin.

Which I don't see why he does, 'cause I'm sure not sorry- so why should he be?

Of course Shinohara wishes I was sorry. I don't think I came with that setting.

The only thing I'm wish'n for right now is my own Quinque- I want one so bad I can taste it, 'n it tastes like dango.

Its getting extremely warm now, and the pavement is blasting the heat back up at my face when I lower my head outta the sun's glare.

Shinohara's a few paces ahead of me and walking with purpose. I can see the CCG in the distance 'n I'm just glad its not a mirage.

I pluck a few buttons free around my collar since my pants can't be rolled up any further. Its little in the way of relief but I'll take it until we get inside the building.

 

"Ahhhh!" I can't help but sigh, the CCG greets us with a burst of cold air and slip my suspenders off my shoulders and tug at my shirt to let the air circulate, earning me a few looks by the ladies at the front desk.

'Course I look right back at 'em.

"Thank god..." Shinohara makes for the restroom and I follow outta habit. He's face first in the sink, slashing water up on his forehead and neck, trying to look presentable for the meeting we're attending.

I look in the mirror at myself, but I'm not sure if I recognize that person.

I'm aware 'm packed full of guts and meat and all sorta goodies that any ghoul would _die_ to get their hands on, but I still feel empty.

Hollow since I choose to remember.

 

On our way down the hall I pass Takizawa, who squints at me with _those fucking eyes_.

Probably because of my appearance. Don't look at my buttons.

What're _you_ looking at? I'm not the one with the ahoge.

I decide to sick my tongue out at him, and make a vulgar gesture with one hand motioning towards my mouth, just because.

It'd be more rewarding to punch 'em in the nose again, but... Shinohara hasn't stopped walking and I've been told to keep up, so--

Takizawa purses his lips and jabs his finger at me.

"You are crude! And a poor excuse for an investigator!" He curls his lip and mutters.

"... _Problem child_."

I turn round to face him direct, my face is feel'n especially hot.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I step forward. " _Please_ say it again?"

The complete shift from petty aggression to horror in Takizawa's expression is funny, and I do laugh at him.

You're hilarious Seidou.

Before Shinohara has to do any more apologizing, his bulk is between us, and before I know it, I'm being hauled into an empty conference room.

 

One set of florescent lights cuts on, its flickering and spill'n blue light.

"Sit?" Shinohara asks and I find myself on the cool synthetic table top, kicking my legs all innocent like.

He scrutinizes me for a minute. Not judgmentally, but more along the lines that he doesn't know what to do with me.

Well, in my defense, Takizawa's the one who started it but I don't say nothin for a minute.

"You've been out in the sun to long." Shinohara says. No wonder my face was burning.

"Am I crude?" I finally ask, kicking one slipper across the room. Four mid-air rotations. Its a new record.

Shinohara looks at the slipper and then back at me. He is thoughtfully quiet for a moment.

"...Its not...that you are crude, but impulsive." He words carefully.

"When you're angry- you're profane, when you are threatened- you immediately turn to violence."

Shinohara rubs his chin and shrugs.

"But I don't think you are a problem. There are things that I admire very much about you. You dare not walk when you can run. You're very proficient in doing your job."

He laughs. " Even when you talk with your mouth full, that takes skill."

Now I can sense the sarcasm on the last bit there, but I'm alright with it. He tosses my record breaking slipper into my hands.

"You're a good kid, Suzuya. I know it, even if others can't see it."

Unspoken is _'some assembly may be required_.'

Sometimes I wonder if being around Shinohara is what its like to have a father.

Its very hard to tell what genuine love is, when your Mama loved you will hooks 'n chains.

I'm not donating a lot of thought on the matter, maybe one day it will be clear to me.

 

During the meeting, while all the higher-ups are talk'n way over my head, I'm sprawled back in my chair and watching for Takizawa to shoot me an unsavory glare from across the table.

When he inevitably does, I return it with a smart grin. I hope I'm looking like a fox who just killed a hen, and is showing off the blood drippin down my jaws and leave it at that.

 

 


	2. Flattery most Insincere

 

Kaneki follows the shave and a hair cut to his apartment door.

He doesn't try the peephole because Kaneki knows exactly who it is, because only _he_ knocks in that rhythm.

He mentally prepares himself. Kaneki takes one deep breath.

Two bolts and a twist and the door is cracked open. Kaneki looks past the taught chain at Tsukiyama, tall and gaudy as ever.

"Bonjour Kaneki, its been a long time!" His voice is inflated with gusto, and is too loud.

Actually, everything is too loud. His jacket is a collage of annoying colors and smells like dye, so its probably new and has yet to be washed.

He scrunches his nose. Only Tsukiyama could offend three sensory inputs at one time.

Kaneki's confident he has never seen him wear the same thing twice.

Does Tsukiyama throw out all of his clothes after he wears them once? Maybe he keeps the articles he really likes, keeps them and forms emotional bonds to them.

Does he cry when his Kagune puts holes in his most favored shirts?

Does Tsukiyama cry at all?

Completely within his personality. He's just had yet to witness it.

"Its been one _weekend_ since I last saw you." Kaneki stares placidly into Tsukiyama's eyes.

Always smiling eyes. They're so very genuinely false.

Kaneki bets Tsukiyama cries when he's denied what he wants.

He should consider not wearing that fake face everyday.

"Yes, but a weekend too _long_ , you are my _most treasured_ friend, Kaneki! To be apart from you is the _worst_ , and I cannot bear it's burden my heart!"

If Kaneki could trounce on Tsukiyama's words, it'd probably feel like cat litter stuck to the bottom of his feet.

He drags his bare sole over the doormat to rid himself of the sensation.

"We agreed to disband the group. Why are you here?" Kaneki's fingers drum on the door frame one good time to punctuate his question.

"Oh, well, won't you let me in? We can continue our discussion in private." He smiles, a prim and otherwise charming dead faced smile.

A smile reserved for his best of behaviors.

Against his better judgment, Kaneki slides the chain lock off and allows Tsukiyama inside. He doesn't wipe his feet because his shoes are never dirty.

Kaneki shuts the door and rests his back against it. Tsukiyama seems to be in one of his famously oblivious mood today and kaneki's reluctant body language is completely ignored.

"As I was saying, I was out and about-"

_'Looking for prey_.'

"-and I thought about you!"

_'Ultimate delicacy._ '

Kaneki nods absently as his brain filters the subtext.

"Since I was in the area I thought I'd pay you a visit! How'd you like to grab a cup of coffee?"

Tsukiyama takes three long strides too close and leans in toward Kaneki.

Waaay into his personal space.

Fabric dye and chemicals.

"My treat."

Kaneki's mind is a collection of pages being cast into an arch by a breeze. The book slams shut and re-opens to the page with the definition: Mythomania.

So nothing changes. Smiles on, all the time, dressed up with tacky attire and flamboyant speech.

Kaneki barely can force himself to grin.

This is his 'sword' as - _only_ \- Tsukiyama referred to himself. Perhaps its not wrong to polish it, since they've insinuated as much.

Kaneki is strong. He is honest, but not as often as he is fair.

He pushes off the door and practically puts his chin into the crook of Tsukiyama's collarbone and whispers to his ear.

"Honestly I'd rather be reading."

 

The shop is air conditioned and typical, interchangeable even. Kaneki's been around. Really, take your pick.

The wait staff are kind, but oh-so-human though, and Kaneki squirms in his nicest dress shirt that Tsukiyama insisted he wear.

He didn't argue, but now he wished he'd dressed himself. His shirt is a rich and royal pigment and it washed out his complexion. It would've suited him better with dark hair.

He strums the band on his eye cover. Tsukiyama is talking unnecessarily, no topic goes by without him adding some flowery accentuation of what is considered dignified and no gap of silence sways him from starting a new discussion.

What could he possibly want? Kaneki can't even find the distraction of this outing enjoyable because, well, Tsukiyama always has motive.

"Don't you agree?"

Snaps Kaneki right out of his own head. Its feels like bathwater is draining out of the membrane of his eyes when he looks at Tsukiyama's clown jacket.

But seriously, clowns wear that. Fashionable clowns.

"I'm sorry, I have been lost in thought lately. What were you saying?"

Tsukiyama puts his elbows on the tabletop. Long lashes and a calm expression plastered onto his face. A commercial for a beauty mask cream projects in the beck of Kaneki's skull.

He thinks of that one occasion, when Tsukiyama attempted to feed him to a whole party of ghouls.

How badly does he want a taste?

"Please share your troubles with me." Tsukiyama latches on.

_'Please? Just one little bite_?' Kaneki hears.

"Um. Its really none-"

"Ken, you have no idea how _much_ you mean to me!" Tsukiyama persists. "I'm here to shoulder you burdens."

' _I want to relish your flesh while you consume a beautiful woman, because that is my aesthetic_.'

Alright this is getting ridiculous. Kaneki shakes his head.

"There are no burdens." Kaneki lies just as insistently.

The waitress sets iced coffees in front of them. Tsukiyama doesn't notice in the throws of his passion.

"I am your sword! Your dagger! I want to be with you Ken!" Tsukiyama is being too loud again. He shields his face with his hand dramatically.

_'Until your guard is down and then..._ '

Kaneki takes a large drink of his iced coffee. He pales and makes a face, pushing away from the table and stumbles out of the door.

"Kaneki?" Tsukiyama follows him out onto the sidewalk, grasping at Kaneki's hunched shoulders.

"I need you! Don't you trust me? Please understand, you've changed me!"

Tsukiyama spins Kaneki around, grabbing his chin and locking onto his watering eye.

Flushed, and vulnerable Kaneki fists the fabric of Tsukiyama's jacket and rests his forehead onto his chest.

"Tsukiyama, I- I--"

"What is it?" Tsukiyama combs through Kaneki's mop of hair, he can smell his flesh and the blood in his face. He has finally has his _cake_.

"S-sugar--" Kaneki chokes out.

"Quoi?"

 

Vomit soaks into the design of Tsukiyama's jacket and runs down the length of his pants into his shoes.

Kaneki's never quite been able to stomach it.

 

 


	3. Intravenous

 

It's loud.

 

I roll over. The oven's alarm is wailing.

 

Why is the oven alarm even set?

 

Feels like icepicks threading through my ears and right into into my parietal lobes.

I'm being smothered in a coffin of blankets, and It's almost relaxing--as I would imagine a straight jacket to be, which I've never had the privilege of wearing but at this point in my life, I wouldn't hesitate to try one on.

 

If not for that unceasing electronic screeching, I'd be content to mummify as is.

 

But why is the oven's alarm set?

 

There, feet in socks. I can hear the weakness in the floor boards under them, in between the screeching.

 

I don't recall having company last night. What was I doing last night?

 

Coaxing myself in to remembering serves me poorly. _What was I doing_? Who _am_ I again?

 

That sentence swings like a overhead lamp, hot and burning dust on the bulb. I'm bent over a collection of photographs and I'm flipping through them while my shadow sways below me.

 

That's right. I'm Ken. That's me, right there. And I bring one photo closer to my mind's eye, the only photo of me smiling.

 

I'm Kaneki Ken, I'm a college student and I've got a fucking killer headache.

 

The noise dulls into a pulse, steady and monitored.

 

I scratch at where the intravenous was placed in the bend of my arm. What a bizarre sensation.

 

My brain's circulating information properly now, and If I didn't know any better, this past week was drug-induced nightmare.

 

Its then I realize the alarm has stopped. My head is out from under the letterpress.

 

A sound like a car accident startles me upright, and the blood has been pounded out of my brain once again.

"Ah- fuck'n."

The womb of blanket is yanked off of me. Its suddenly very cold, and my first reaction is to hug my knees and allow my eyes to adjust to the light.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up quite yet," Hide sighs, looking down at me.

He's trying not to smirk at me, but by default he's making an absurdly comical face.

" _But since you're up now_ , why don't you give me a hand!?"

I bite my tongue and smooth down my tousled hair. He always knows exactly how to make me feel normal, albeit through provocation, but still.

 

I'll allow myself to misplace Kaneki Ken, but Hideyoshi Nagachika will never be lost.

 

"I swear, your cabinets are booby-trapped." Hide scoops up a baking sheet and some various cookware I didn't even know I owned off the kitchen floor.

"Hide... You know what that implies, right?"

"Hah! I said it, of course I know what it implies! You- you--!" He dramatically slams a glass on top of the counter.

"Dummy!"

"That hurts me, Hide. It hurts my _soul_." But at least I'm not an idiot-boob.

"Because you know I'm right!" Hide snorts. "You wanna drink?"

That's a good question. I stare at the back of my hands. My eyes burn.

Hide keeps the ball rolling. "Well, in case you've forgotten, You have orange juice, tea and instant coffee, but the milk I'm not so sure about, I'm thinking its expired."

He uncaps the container and I can smell the curdled milk at once, it makes me want to gag.

"I'm not too sure, but I don't trust it." Hide isn't disgusted by it like I am, but he still turns it over in the sink.

My fingers twitch and I watch the tendons in my hand contract.

"I think it had everything to do with you leaving the door to the fridge open for hours..." Hide floats a glance over his shoulder at me.

Oops.

"I'll have water."

"Good, you probably need hydration after crying all night."

I don't know if that was intended to be a joke or not, but it makes me feel very small.

Yes. Yes, I did cry. I do my best not to let that ripple across my expression.

Regardless, Hide notices. He passes me a glass of water and sits on the futon too.

"I'm not going to pretend you didn't." He says, opposite of his personality. "When I showed up with the notes, you were already asleep on the floor. Scared me pretty when you cried out the first time. I wasn't sure what to do."

...That's right. I left Hide a message and attempted to stab out my own kidney.

The reality of what is happening to me has transformed into knives lodged inside my chest, cutting into my heart with each breath.

Speaking of which, I notice the chef's knife I destroyed is gone from the floor.

A surge of emotion wraps its claws around my throat.

I take it like a capsule and swallow if down with a drink of water. The only substance I've found that I can stomach.

"So while you slept, I tried to make breakfast but...uh," Hide presses his pointer finger into the dimple of his cheek. "Yeah, I can't cook like you can."

I spy some unrecognizably burnt lumps on a cooking sheet.

I want to tease Hide about his glorious failure, but I don't . My eyes flicker to the stove's clock and it flashes neon green. 4:36 am.

"You've been here all night?" I breath into my glass and it fogs up.

"Well, you said you needed the notes, so I went ahead and copied them for you-- WITH illustrations included!" He grins, and it feel like ages since I've witnessed that.

I wish Hide wouldn't waste them on me, those smiles. I set the glass down on the floor and talk around my palms.

"Thank you, Hide. I don't know why I've had so many bad dreams lately." Which is a lie. The nightmare finds me in the waking hours now. I'm so sick and tired.

Undoubtedly, Hide's probably much more tired than I am, sticking around until the early morning hours because I'm sobbing in my sleep.

It speaks for his character.

"...You did have a freak accident, its not uncommon to suffer from mental strain afterwards."

Hide shrugs. I wonder if he knows how much I'm going to suffer. I don't really see a way out of this.

Since now I'm ... I'm a...

_Ghoul..._

"Hey."

I lift my head and almost bump into Hide's nose.

I flinch, but remain close. He's squinting at me with this- this dubious gleam in his eyes. It makes me squirm.

"W-what?"

"Can I see it?" He whispers.

For a second I'm scrambling to decipher the context of his inquiry, but then what Hide's alluding to hits me like an I-beam.

I exhale loudly, twisting around to face him and lift my shirt.

"Oh man..." Hide gasps. "That is _so_ cool."

"You're kidding, right?" I ask monotone.

The scar is several inches of ugly raised tissue. I don't favor the idea of referring to it as mine, because I'd do literally anything to go back in time and be rid of it.

It shines like silk in the low light of the stove-top lamp. Little raised bumps hem it in on either side, scars from the staples.

"Nope..." Hide leans over onto his palms to get a better look at it.

I'm not quite sure what to do at this point, so I resolve to looking up at the ceiling while he examines me.

His breath is balmy on my abdomen.

"Can I touch it?"

"Can you _touch_ it?!" I repeat, dropping my chin to look at him.

"Yes." He meets my eyes. Hide's pupils are dilated, only a thin ring of brown iris fringes them in.

"Wha--No!"

I'm doing my absolute best to disguise my embarrassment from the retrograde of our conversation. I tuck my shirt into my jeans.

"Laaaame." Hide sighs, falling backward onto the futon, his head pillowed by his arms and yawns.

I make a incredulous noise at him.

"Can you hear yourself right now? You want to feel up my _kidney scar_!"

I'm trying to hold it together, but a bubble of laughter escapes my chest and it hurts.

"I bet its soft, is all." Hide's eyes are closed and another smile sets wry on his face.

"Or course it is! The skin that forms over a wound is weaker and the texture is different because of the fibrous tissue..."

 

I silence myself and remain in suspension until the clock blinks five-hundred hours.

Hide's chest expands and contracts in uniform respiration.

He is asleep. I drag a heavy blanket over the both of us and lay down on my side.

 

It dawns me that this will be the last time I'll be this close to Hide. Physically, and emotionally. I want to remember this.

 

Who knows what will happen to me.

Everyday I mutate into more of a monster, everyday I'm more disturbed and filled with thoughts that aren't my own- are not  _human_  and I despise it.

I despise it so much, at this rate, I'll die hating myself.

 

Its overwhelming, dripping off my eyelashes and wet on my face.

 

"I'm sorry, Hide." I tell his ear and he smells appetizing in return, so leave the warm futon and fashion a straight jacket out of a blanket in my own bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based out of that one part in chapter three, I think?  
> ()  
> For my dear friend Brit, who loves Hide and despises Kaneki. What's wrong with you?


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